


At the Bright Pane Surrounded

by sageness



Series: Behind Glass [1]
Category: DCU, Smallville
Genre: Canon - Comics, Canon - TV, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-30
Updated: 2004-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to Weirdnessmagnet, Ms_Hecubus, and lcsbanana for betas.  This is a beta-appreciation piece for the fabulous Nymphaea1, who has been so generous with her editing brilliance.</p>
    </blockquote>





	At the Bright Pane Surrounded

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Weirdnessmagnet, Ms_Hecubus, and lcsbanana for betas. This is a beta-appreciation piece for the fabulous Nymphaea1, who has been so generous with her editing brilliance.

It's dusk in Metropolis, and Batman stands on the terrace, just outside the open doorway. He's been looming there, hiding in plain sight for some time now, watching.

Superman wanders through the sparsely furnished apartment, tugging absently at the neck of his uniform and opening kitchen cabinets, making noise in the bathroom, bedroom, closet. For a minute, Superman does nothing but run his hands back and forth over the kitchen counter; then, abruptly, he disappears into the bedroom again.

He isn't using superspeed. He doesn't seem to be hunting for anything specific, and he appears so lost in thought as to be unaware of his fingers rubbing back and forth over his impervious skin. Rubbing enough to leave a less-than-fleeting welt at the base of his throat.

Superman stops cold when he comes back to the living room and sees Batman.

"You followed me."

Batman finally enters the room, pulling the glass door shut against the chill wind. "What happened?"

"What—"

Batman's mouth tightens imperceptibly.

"Batman—"

"Clark." Batman takes a small scanning device out of its pouch and points it at him.

"What are you doing?" Clark folds his arms stubbornly.

"Making sure you didn't get tagged with anything. Or dosed," he adds, as a polymer wand extends to taste the back of Clark's hand.

"I'm fine."

Batman frowns at the scanner display. "Routine disaster relief doesn't upset you like this. Start talking."

Clark's fingers trace the neckline of his suit again. "Bruce, really. Nothing happened. Go back to Gotham. I'll see you at the Watchtower tomorrow."

Batman takes a step forward.

"Damn it, I—" Clark cuts himself off, finishing in a whisper, "It's nothing, okay? Trust me."

Batman lets the silence fall and doesn't move.

Clark takes a half-step back, brow wrinkling into a frown. "I...I can't do this right now. I'm not...clean," he says, worrying the spot on his neck again. "Never mind."

"You know what my responsibilities are. If you're that reluctant to talk, there's always J'onn."

Clark freezes for a second, and then shakes his head. "Let me take a shower," Clark says, detaching his cape and turning toward the master bath.

Batman frowns, but lets him go. Moments later, he can hear the shower running, cabinets slamming, and the sound of Clark cursing. Then a flesh-toned blur and Clark is standing naked in the kitchen, rummaging in drawers, grumbling a surprising string of vulgarities. Batman's mouth opens in surprise as he watches through the open bar. Clark's shoulders are damp and his skin is predictably flawless. The line of the counter falls at mid-hip, hiding everything below the top of his ass—until he moves away, presses up against the stove.

Finally Clark shuts his eyes and takes a long breath. Batman watches his chest expand, his abs flex, his balls contract; and the soft length of his penis sways back and forth. Then with the exhale, everything releases, and Clark almost looks normal again. Almost.

When Clark opens his eyes, he methodically scans the room, crosses to the pantry, and empties a full grocery sack into the sink. Snatching up soap and shampoo, he scowls once at Batman, and vanishes again into the steaming bathroom.

Batman goes to explore the rest of the apartment. It's a large, if barren, two-bedroom place retrofitted for an art deco feel, with muted ivory walls and a stunning river view. The living room holds a couch, a chair, and a dusty coffee table. An old Ansel Adams print hangs incongruously next to one of Georgia O'Keefe's poppies. An empty picture hook scars the wall above the sculpted mantel.

The second bedroom is an office, at least in that it holds a desk, an empty file cabinet, and a bookcase of memoirs by 20th Century statesmen. All electronics are gone except for an outmoded printer on the floor in the corner. The second bathroom is bereft of so much as a shower curtain. The pantry holds five shelves of full grocery bags. There are some very old cleaning supplies under the sink, which is now cluttered with assorted toiletries. The cabinets above the counter contain some generic dishes, two boxes of tea, and a long-crystallized jar of organic honey.

And then, the master bedroom. The king-sized bed is a neatly made mixture of purple and beige, but the ironwork headboard bears signs of having been twisted, bent, and spot-welded back into shape. There is a large window with ordinary blinds, average-looking nightstands, lamps, an ornate ceiling fan, an empty chest of drawers, a signed Mapplethorpe on the far wall. There is an empty rectangle pressed into the carpet by the cable connections. And as he turns, there is Clark, naked and clean now, watching him case the room. Clark raises an eyebrow and goes to the closet, emerging with a pair of drawstring pants in his hand.

"You know, if you really wanted, you could've just watched me shower."

"You would've liked that."

"I did take my time." Clark holds his gaze as he steps into the pants and ties the drawstring, then goes back to the living room.

Batman glances into the closet—empty except for a handful of swinging hangers and a couple of boxes on a high shelf—then follows, finding Clark sprawled on the battered leather couch.

Clark is rubbing again at the base of his neck, where his left carotid would be if he were human. Batman sits in the chair opposite and waits.

"What?"

"Why are we here, Clark?"

"You really can't give it a rest, can you?"

Batman inclines his head slightly. "Would you, if it were me?"

Clark exhales slowly and sits up. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Whose apartment is this?"

"Mine. I lived here back...before."

"Before Lois."

Clark snorts softly. "Before a lot of things, yeah."

"You and she are—"

"On the outs again."

"You've kept this place all these years?"

"I, uh...never got around to selling it."

"And it's convenient to have a separate place for...."

"What, secret liaisons?" Clark answers with a dubious look. "Look, I haven't even been here in months, not since the last round of serious death threats hit the Daily Planet and SCU wouldn't let me go home. The Fortress was too—"

"Clark."

"Fine," he snaps. "You're right, something happened."

"During the mission."

He nods. "At the end. While the others were dealing with the police. I'd just finished clearing some wreckage...and then," Clark stops, fingers tracing his throat again.

The subtle shifts in Batman's expression seem to track Clark's movement. The whited-out lenses in the cowl narrow, but the hard set of his jaw remains the same.

When Clark speaks, it's barely audible. "Lex."

Batman growls, "Luthor was there and you didn't _say_ anything?"

"No, you don't understand. Listen to me."

Batman grits his teeth and waits.

"He wasn't...being evil. He was just standing there, no bodyguards, nobody around at all. Waiting for me, I guess. I was so surprised...at the time I didn't even notice he wasn't wearing the ring. He was just standing there with this _look_ on his face. His eyes...."

"How can you be sure—"

"Bruce, hear me out, okay? I don't think I can tell this more than once." Clark swallows hard. "He was so...he looked _lost_, Bruce. I haven't seen him like that in...fifteen years. When he walked toward me, it felt just like the old days."

"He touched you."

Clark rubs his neck, then forces his hand away. "He put his arms around me and kissed my neck. Then he looked up at me, and..." Clark looks at Bruce, eyes gleaming as his fingers move to his lips. "I let him kiss me and I...it was like none of the last ten years ever happened."

"Clark—"

"Don't you see? For a moment, I had him back again." He gestures helplessly. "I had him back."

"Then what?"

"Sirens. It was another fire truck. But he smiled and touched my cheek and walked away. I heard him get into a car and drive away, but...I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. He—nobody—"

"You never got over him."

It's an empty laugh. "Well, he's only been trying to murder me for most of a decade now...except when it suits him not to. Like today. He could've killed me, but he didn't."

"Luthor's strategies are Byzantine. He has extensive files on _all_ of us, and most metahumans as well; but he keeps our secrets."

"That's only because the irrational one percent would tear him apart if he didn't."

"_One_ percent?" Batman says with a smirk.

Clark glares, propping his bare feet on the edge of coffee table. "Let's just hope it never happens."

Batman remains impassive as ever. Finally he says quietly, "You lived here when you and he were together."

"Sort of. I mean, I basically lived at the penthouse, but I wasn't ready to move in permanently. He hated my old apartment, so he bought this place in my name." Clark frowns, adding softly, "It was...an anniversary present."

"I see."

"I miss him." Clark bites his lip, staring across the table with wide eyes. "The real him."

Something in Batman's expression softens slightly, though the cowl still hides most of his face.

"You knew him in school, Bruce. You know he wasn't always like he is now."

"Yes."

"Then you understand why I feel like I'm going crazy here, right?" Clark's sliding forward across the coffee table, twining his knees with Batman's. Batman sits up straight as Clark's hand closes on a Kevlar-clad thigh.

Batman shakes his head and tries to push the hand off. "Go home, Clark. Or go knock on Lois' window. Pretend none of this ever happened."

"I can't." His voice is a raw whisper.

"Yes, you can," Batman answers, mouth set in a firm line.

He shakes his head, frustration written over his face. "She can't give me what I need."

"But you think I can?"

"I know you can." Clark's mouth is on him in a crushing kiss. Batman doesn't react.

"And what if I say no?" he asks in a neutral voice.

Lips creased in frustration, Clark plants his feet on either side of Batman's boots, but the resolve in his expression is fading fast. "Bruce, he unlocked his balcony door. The security pods are keyed to fire on anyone but me, not that they could hurt me anyway."

"You checked."

Clark shrugs half-heartedly. "It was on the way."

"He still has his ring."

"He's not wearing it," Clark stops, eyes wide and searching. "Don't you see? He risked everything this afternoon for a kiss. He's waiting for me to go to him and make it even."

"That would betray everything you believe in."

"_That's_ what I'm telling you! I could have him back tonight! I could be there in seconds...." Clark's thumbs skate desperately over Batman's knees, fingers rubbing into his thighs. "But I can't let myself, no matter how much I want him—"

"Clark—"

"And I _do_. Bruce, you have no idea...."

A silent look passes between them, and the line of Batman's mouth softens slowly. "I see."

"It's bad enough that I even came here. Be my reality check. Don't let me fall back into the past." Clark leans in and kisses him again, gentler, and this time Batman kisses him back. "Please help me?" Clark whispers, pulling him to his feet.

Batman frowns.

"I swear I won't turn into Catwoman," Clark says lightly.

Batman laughs. "So _that's_ what you and Nightwing talk about."

"I never said that." And Clark is lifting him, and suddenly they are on the bed with Clark tugging Batman's boots off with fire in his eyes.

Batman yanks off the cowl, blue eyes bright and dilated, his brown hair a tangled mess. "Clark."

Clark stares at him for a moment, then slides his bare chest back up Batman's body and kisses him again, long and hard this time, and Bruce arches up as Clark pulls him into it.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I need this. I need you." Clark bites his ear. "I need you naked."

Clark nips down under Bruce's chin to the newly exposed neck. Batman's hands move down to his belt and something beeps.

Clark laughs against his neck. "Thank you for not blowing us up."

Batman chuckles, pulls him into another kiss, running his hands up Clark's chest, stroking up and twisting a nipple hard. Clark moans. Grinding against his thigh, he arches up to take a fingertip of the gauntlet in his mouth. He sucks at the armor for a second, and then pulls with his teeth. With a sly grin, Bruce unfastens the wrist catch with his other hand and lets the glove fly free. Clark laughs again, warm and low, yanks off the other gauntlet, and begins unfastening clasps on the suit.

Bruce traces his fingers over Clark's face and lips, rakes his hands through his hair, down his neck, digging his fingertips hard into Clark's shoulders.

"Open your eyes."

Clark's eyes pop open and he flushes slightly.

"We can do this, but we have to do it my way."

Clark nods.

"Don't take your eyes off me."

Batman slides out from under him and quickly strips the rest of the way out of his uniform. He stands there for a moment, half hard, drawing Clark's gaze to his body. Clark stares and stares. Then shivers, licks his lips.

"Get up."

Clark does, and Bruce takes his place on the bed, shoving back the coverlet and propping the pillows against the headboard.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Stand there and look at me."

"Okay."

"What do you see?"

Clark takes a moment to study him. Skin and scars, blue eyes under thick eyebrows, something aristocratic in the nose, quiet lips, willful jaw, strikingly delicate ears, and his cock growing thicker, balls heavier, and his feet—the pale soles of Bruce's feet.

"Well?"

"You. Scars. A naked, billionaire crime-fighter sprawled out in my bed...."

"How are Luthor....How are _Lex_ and I alike?"

"Oh, God." Clark pales and looks away.

"Tell me."

"This really isn't what I had in mind, Bruce."

"I'll give you what you need, but if I'm going to do this, it has to be on my terms," he says with half a smile.

Clark's expression is clouded, but he nods assent.

"Good." Leaning against the headboard now, Bruce draws up a knee and looks pointedly at Clark. "Don't take your eyes off me and answer the question."

Clark shifts his feet. "Well, you're both ridiculously wealthy. You went to some of the same schools, at least for a little while. You're both brilliant and love solving puzzles. Um, the loss of your families affected you both deeply. You both hide behind a false image."

"So do you."

"You didn't ask about me."

"True. What else?"

"You both like knowing everything, as in 'knowledge is power,' but on a grand scale. And you both enjoy being in control. And watching me...even if all I'm doing is standing at a window looking at the stars."

"Is that it?"

Clark's eyes graze down Bruce's torso to his cock, to the hand holding it loosely, and stare until Bruce's balls twitch. Licking his lips, Clark adjusts his erection to tent his pants at a new angle. "Um...you're beautiful. And I'm dying to touch you."

Bruce smiles and strokes himself slowly. "How long have you wanted that?"

"How long have I known you?"

"Tell me how Lex and I are different."

"Oh you bastard," Clark mumbles with a rough squeeze to his cock. "Different? Millions of ways."

"Tell me."

Clark looks at him once sharply, then considers. "Well, I trust you, for one thing. Barring mind-control incidents and alternate dimensions, anyway."

A grin flickers over Batman's face. "I'll keep that in mind."

"God, um, hair? And scars. He doesn't scar as severely as normal people, and you...."

"_Look_ at me, Clark," Batman growls.

"Sorry," Clark breathes, eyes flitting back from the nude on the wall. Bruce's fingers are tracing the pale lines of scar tissue over his chest, down his belly to the neat dark hair. Trimmed, of course, and not touching himself now.

"Other ways we're different?"

"You help people because you want to, not because you profit by it. You don't have a half dozen failed marriages. Or a pair of deadly female bodyguards. You're taller."

"You're ignoring the point," Bruce prods.

"Which is?"

"You're not in love with me."

Clark's stomach jolts involuntarily and his eyes go wide, though he doesn't drag them away from Bruce. Irritation, affection, lust—a dozen different emotions pass across Clark's face. "No. And you don't want me to be. I care about you, Bruce, but yeah, it's nothing like what I feel—felt—whatever, for him."

Bruce raises an eyebrow and tightens his hand around his cock.

Clark gives himself an answering squeeze, sucks in a breath.

Batman looks out of Bruce's eyes and says, "Strip for me, Clark. Do it slow."

Clark smiles. He gives himself a slow stroke through the thin fabric, then slides a finger through the wet spot. He holds Bruce's gaze as he draws his hand up his chest to paint his lips and suck his finger. And another. Then his hands are scraping down his chest, thumbing a nipple, and pushing down slightly at the waistband to bare hipbones and a trail of hair.

Clark glances at the bedside lamps and the fan overhead, then turns at an angle to Bruce. The blue striped cotton is stretched tight over his erection.

"Do you get off on watching everybody, or just me?"

Bruce sweeps his palm down over his balls and squeezes. "You get off on being seen."

"Oh yeah?" Clark says, turning around and running his hands down his ass. Looking over his shoulder at Bruce, he stretches slowly.

"You _like_ the press coverage and photo ops. No patience for subtlety, either."

Clark strikes a self-consciously cheesecake pose. "What else?" He makes another quarter turn and winks.

"You're a tease."

"Except when I'm a slut," he says, slowly pulling one end of the drawstring out of its bow.

"All those years of hiding your true self."

"It's good to have an outlet." Holding eye contact, he tugs the cord free and lets the pants fall to the floor.

"You love being naked."

"Yes." Clark crawls back onto the bed and presses his face between Bruce's legs, nuzzling for a moment before mouthing his balls one at a time. Slowly, eyes on Bruce's face, Clark licks up his cock, teases the ridge with his lips, and sucks lightly at the tip. Then he pulls Bruce down the bed until he's lying under him.

The kiss is deep, demanding, and Batman pulls Clark closer. Fingers rake down Clark's back, grip his ass as he thrusts against him.

"I need you," Clark breathes between hungry, biting kisses. "In me." Bruce holds on, sucking Clark's tongue, each moaning as their cocks slide faster together.

Clark pulls away in a blur of speed, taking a bottle of lube from the nightstand and flipping them over as one. "I mean it. Fuck me." Clark has the cap flipped open and is pressing the top against Batman's hand.

"You didn't have soap, but you have lube?"

"It's not new," Clark mumbles. Bruce's eyes are crinkled with amusement, but he's taking the bottle, is getting his knees under him. Clark pulls his legs up. "Bruce...I need—" He cries out as a broad finger pushes in deep. "God, yes."

"I can't hurt you like this." It isn't a question.

"No, it just feels..." Clark moans as another finger shoves in, twisting. "God, oh God."

"Open your eyes, Clark."

"Shit—yes, there!—I mean, sorry...."

"I'm not him."

"Bruce..." Clark trails off, eyes locked on Bruce's, and covers the hand braced on his knee. "You, Bruce—" His breath hitches as they hold the gaze, hips still pumping against driving fingers.

Batman pulls free and Clark cries out against the absence, holding on with his eyes as the hands slip from view. Then Bruce is pushing his cock in, sliding in deliberately slow, deliberately hard.

Clark pulls his legs up higher. Bruce grabs the backs of his thighs and shoves deeper, and again, all the way in. They're both staring, grunting, as Bruce builds the rhythm. Clark's lips twist into a raw snarl and his eyes are huge, dilated, more naked than his sac jumping with every thrust or the wet line of pre-come smearing his belly. "Fuck me. God, fuck him _out_ of me. I need—"

Bruce slams into him, pulls almost completely out, then slams home again and again. Clark bites down on his forearm, yelling into it with each thrust until he can't control himself, has to push Batman back until he can get his legs down around his waist and pull him into a desperate, trembling kiss.

Clark holds Bruce's face, sucking his tongue, uses his legs to pull him in deeper, harder, quickening each stroke.

"Bruce..." he groans.

"Touch yourself. Let me see you," Batman grunts, shifting the angle.

Clark shudders wild-eyed and moves his hands.

It doesn't take much. A few hard thrusts into his fist matching Batman's rhythm, and the eyes flicker between Bruce and Batman, endlessly watching.

Then Clark is jetting come all over his hand and belly and chest, and Bruce is fucking him faster, lifting Clark's hand and licking it clean, sucking. And then Bruce's teeth are biting down as he comes, quaking, inside him.

Clark catches Bruce by the shoulders and holds him there, sweat dripping tiny splashes onto Clark's skin. Holds him there a small eternity, unmoving, only staring into each other as they ride out the aftershocks together.

And then Clark smiles, open and real. Bruce smiles back, with almost no hint of Batman, and Clark's smile flashes brighter.

Bruce slides a finger through the mess on Clark's belly, draws something, tastes him again, then pushes against Clark's knees to free himself.

"Wait," Clark says, and pulls him down for a lingering kiss. He releases his legs and Bruce slips out, Clark's arms still wrapped close around him. Clark kisses him again, gently mapping his face with his lips, until Bruce pulls away and falls into a tired sprawl at his side.

They doze for a while, nestled together, until Bruce stirs and turns his head toward Clark's sweat-streaked face.

"Thank you," Clark murmurs.

"Mmm. Glad I could help." Bruce waits a split second, then presses a soft kiss against his lips.

A moment passes and Clark smiles, looking at him curiously. "You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." Bruce doesn't completely repress the smirk. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. Today was...he threw me for a loop."

"You _are_ going to stay away from him." There's a steely glint in Bruce's eyes.

"Yeah. I have to."

"Good."

"Thanks for...finding me." Clark reaches out, almost tentatively, to stroke the shell of Bruce's ear. "I like seeing you, too, you know."

A shadow crosses Bruce's face, creasing his brow. He shuts his eyes; then he takes a deep breath, stretches, and sits up. His usual inscrutable reserve is back. "I'm going to use your shower."

Clark nods and rolls to face the bathroom wall.

* * *

After locking the terrace door behind Batman, Clark dives back onto the bed. He lays there for a few moments, grinding into the sheets and relishing the scent of sweat, come, and maleness until he is hard again.

Then he scans the fixtures once more and kneels before the bedside lamp, jacking himself fast and hard. He comes quickly, shooting all over his hand; a little splatters the nightstand. Clark doesn't move. He just stares at the lamp and licks his fingers thoroughly clean.

"I meant every word, whether it makes sense to you or not," he says, eyes focused on the tiny A/V transmitter embedded in the shade. "You'll always be a part of my past," his voice falters. "...but it's gone. Things are different now."

Clark brushes the last drop of come from his slit and sucks it into his mouth. "You can have the pants and the sheets, if you like; but if you take them, do me a favor and replace them, okay? Something in a charcoal gray, maybe. But not too expensive." Clark takes a ragged breath and shuts his eyes tight. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get home."

Still, he doesn't move. He scrubs a hand over his eyelids and looks back at the lamp. "Lex...for whatever it's worth, happy anniversary to you, too. Here's hoping you don't kill anyone tomorrow...or the next day...."

His lips shape "or ever," but make no sound.

* * *

The feed fades to black and shuts itself down as Superman flies out into the cold night. Lex sits for a moment, trembling. Then he wipes his hand with a linen handkerchief and cues the replay.

**Author's Note:**

> Boy at the Window
> 
> by Richard Wilbur
> 
>  
> 
> Seeing the snowman standing all alone  
> In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.  
> The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare  
> A night of gnashings and enormous moan.  
> His tearful sight can hardly reach to where  
> The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes  
> Returns him such a god-forsaken stare  
> As outcast Adam gave to Paradise.
> 
> The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,  
> Having no wish to go inside and die.  
> Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.  
> Though frozen water is his element,  
> He melts enough to drop from one soft eye  
> A trickle of the purest rain, a tear  
> For the child at the bright pane surrounded by  
> Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.


End file.
